


Ripple Effect

by Siriusfanatic



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: AU obviously, Barbossa has done a lot of shit in the past, Bill Turner is a bit of an oppertunist asshat, Graphic Sex, M/M, Mentions of Past Assault, Revenge Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sparbossa, The Sparbossa feels are real, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: Following the events of  "Choices of Men and Gods", Barbossa is returning from his voyage to find himself suddenly confronted by Bootstrap Bill, who has been waiting years for a chance to take revenge on Barbossa for sending him to the depths.This serves a sort of prologue to the events that will happen in the next fic that center around the DMTNT story line.





	Ripple Effect

**Author's Note:**

> * Hector's young again? What's up with Groves? Where is Jack and the Pearl? If you didn't read "Choices of Men and Gods" get yourself over there and do so, it's in my profile, otherwise this fic will make NOOOOO sense!!
> 
> *It may or may not be obvious that I'm still kind of mad at Bill for killing Norrington...
> 
> *Love Bootstrap Bill and think he is an innocent precious baby that needs protected?? THIS FIC AIN'T GONNA BE YOUR JAM, SON. I love Bill, but...lets be real here.

 

 

 

 

 

                Bootstrap Bill was heavy in his drink that evening, feeling melancholy and wistful. Life was his again; or, more of a life than he had previously lived. Bill knew that life as a mortal man had been lost to him all those long years ago when he had taken that cursed piece of eight in his hands. But this new life that he led; free from his curse, was something strange to him.

               

                Now in his son’s company, the ship no longer seemed a place of loneliness and torment, but it was far from home. Not that Bill even knew what that was anymore. He struggled to bond with Will, to guide the young man in his new duties as Captain of _The Flying Dutchman_. But happy though Will was to be once more be reunited with him, it paled in comparison to the longing he felt to return to Elizabeth and his old life.

               

                Bill knew that longing all too well, for he still felt it himself, every single day. But at least, for the moment, his son still had a warm embrace to go home to when the time came. Bill was not so fortunate.

Though he was happy to stay at his son’s side, serving as his First Mate, there was something brewing inside of the dark secret place of his heart. A feeling of regret and loneliness as had been there for so long; now coupled or perhaps heightened by a feeling of jealousy and resentment.

               

Leaning upon the rail, the night sea breeze upon his face, fanning wisps of his dark hair that had come loose from his braid behind him, he thought back to his final conversation with the man who so often plagued his thoughts and his dreams; Jack Sparrow.

               

The last time he had seen Jack, he was in Barbossa’s arms. Hector Barbossa, the very same man who had mutinied and marooned Jack almost twenty years previously. The same bloody blackguard, who had then imprisoned, tortured him before sending him over the side of the Black Pearl strapped to a canon. The thought brought a sour frown to Bill’s face and he took another heady drink from his rum bottle, gritting his teeth into the wind. The idea churned the coals of a fire inside him; one Bill thought long dead. It seemed a wicked, maddening idea that Jack should return to his wicked First Mate after all that he had done to him. What possible sort of redemption could there be for such a man with a heart black as Barbossa’s?

               

Will had explained as much of the story as he could to him, for he himself did not know the full extent of it. How Jack had indeed exacted his revenge upon Barbossa for the mutiny, only to have Tia Dalma then resurrect Hector in an ironic twist to save the same man who had murdered him. Though Will certainly had no love for Barbossa himself, he noted that he did indeed seem a changed man from the desperate villain who had kidnapped Elizabeth from Port Royal all that time ago. But they all had been very different people then, Will had explained with a hint of melancholy. It was not secret that though Will had come to understand that his affair with Jack was not truly love, that the feelings lingered, turning more bitter over the long months and years that had passed since those innocent days. Will saw in his son’s sad eyes the same confusion and helplessness he’d lived with for years.

 

The more he had dwelled on it; as he had these past two weeks of endless drifting, the more it all felt like some great insult to him. After all, he had fallen down this forsaken path for the man; risking all and forsaking home and family to follow him into danger on the open water. Bill had never stood a chance; he had always been in love with Jack Sparrow.  And now when perhaps there remained a small glimmer of hope that they could pick up where they left off; his hopes were dashed by that familiar wicked presence. Had he not suffered for that love? Did he not deserve it now? Had he not the right to take back what was his? He finished the bottle and smashed it against the rail, letting the pieces fall over the edge into the dark water below before sauntering off towards the captain’s cabin.

               

He passed some of his old fellow shipmates as he went; Jericho, Maccus and Old Haddy, who gave him a wide berth as he passed. “Old Bootstrap is in a mood tonight, lads…” Old Haddy mused, pipe in his mouth. “Has a face like an approaching storm cloud he does.”

               

“Wonder what’s got ol’ Bill’s dander up?”

               

“The wantin’, probably.” snickered Maccus. “The itch what can’t be scratched. Not that I’d offer, mind ya, curse or no.” The trio cackled among themselves until they saw Bill glaring back at them and they scattered.

               

Bootstrap yanked open the heavy double door’s leading to Will’s cabin and ascended into the roomy cavern beyond, for the Dutchman’s captain quarters were divided into two separate rooms, one where the captain slept, ate and charted their course, and the other Davy’s old organ room where Will now slept. That room still gave Bill a terrible chill and he would not go near it, even if Will had ordered the crew to put the organ overboard long ago.

               

He moved instead towards the nook which contained the ship’s massive collection of charts and maps, for he suspected he would find his son there. Will, like his father, was dulling himself with drink, though Will didn’t often drink to drunkenness; the mark of a wise captain.

               

He looked up curiously as Bill entered without announcing himself, marching towards the walls covered with sea faring charts that covered all the corners of the globe, and some even beyond. “What is it?” Will asked, swallowing quickly. Bill ignored him at first, squinting his watery blue eyes at charts. “Do you know where it is?” he asked in his usual, soft, sad voice.

               

“Where what is? What are you talking about?”

               

“The Pearl. Do you know where she makes berth?”

               

Will rose slowly from his chair, “Father…you’ve been drinking again.”

               

“What of it?”

               

“I need a crew with a sober mind and stable feet.” Will answered gently. He was kinder with Bill than perhaps he had ought to be, but he felt so much for what the man had suffered, and his father was all he really had upon the ship as a confidant. He would do nothing to jeopardize that relationship. Especially not now, when it felt like all he had left. “What is it you want with Jack?”

               

“A word. Perhaps more.” Bill replied bluntly, and Will could tell he was in a growing temper. Something had upset him, and whatever it was, it was fanned by rum he’d consumed. “You would like to see him again too, eh?” his father added, looking quickly to him, a smile on his lips, though it didn’t feel as friendly as it should.

 

Will chuckled ruefully and shook his head. “I’m not so sure he would care for the pleasure of my company these days. I do not hope to see Sparrow again until my service is up. And if before then, I fear it will be an unhappy meeting.”

               

“Doesn’t have to be.” Bill answered. “You cannot go ashore, but that does not deny you contact with the rest of the world. No longer is this ship cursed as it was, William. No longer are we only an omen of death to all who sail.”

               

Will was not sure he agreed. “What is it you’re after?” he asked again.

 

                Bill seemed reluctant to answer, glaring down at the table; “There are things left unsaid. And I feel that I need to say them. Now.”

               

Will studied him cautiously. “I do not know where the Pearl is. I have lost sight of her for some time now. Perhaps some damage came to her, and she is in for repairs.”

               

“That ship is neigh indestructible and you know it.” Bill snarled. He caught himself then, backing away when he saw how his son’s eyes had widened at his reproach. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not angry with you.”

               

“But you are with Sparrow?” Will asked suspiciously.

               

“HE OWES ME!” Bill found himself bellowing then, quivering all over. It shook them both, and Bootstrap dropped into a chair with trembling fingers covering his face as he began sniffle just a little. “Perhaps my mind is growing feeble. I feel so much older than I look. But I cannot accept it…I waited so long for rescue. I waited and he never came. He had given up on me. Can you understand?”

               

“He didn’t know, or he would have.” Will replied gently. “Jack believed you were dead. Or he never would have left you to that fate. He is a good man, despite his faults.”

               

 _“HA!”_ Bill spat back, “A good man…once I was a good man too. Now look at me. Look at you. The devil take all of us…”

               

Will turned away and drank from his glass again, not feeling up to this. Bill had been very moody lately, his temper changing with the tides. He rationalized then that perhaps the only cure for it was for Jack and his father to meet properly. After all, there had been little time for explanations after the battle. Perhaps a bit of shore leave was just what Bootstrap needed to clear this fog from his mind and set him right again.

 

He turned then to his charts, looking them over carefully, focusing. One of the gifts Will had been given as Captain of the Dutchman, was the ability to locate any ship that sailed upon the seven seas.  The largest chart upon the wall, showing all seven of the seas, was made by the very first sailors and imbued with a magic older and more powerful than most believed. All a man had to do to locate any ship upon its waters, was to touch it and speak the name of the one they sought, and the map would show the way. But the map could only show the locations of the ships, not the sailors aboard them. That required at least some knowledge on the viewer’s part, memories of the sailor in question to guide the magic to the correct mark.

 

He laid his finger upon the map and spoke; “Show me The Black Pearl.”

Faint lines spread from beneath his finger tip across the charts in all angles, searching, seeking for what he sought. Normally, a clear path to the ship would arise upon the parchment, and the ship itself would be revealed upon it. But though the magic searched, it could not find The Black Pearl. Will stepped back, blinking. This was a troubling development. “She’s gone. Wherever she is, she is not upon the water.”

               

Bill stared at the maps too, hardly able to believe his eyes. But there was no arguing it, the Pearl had vanished. His chest tightened, and where he should have felt worry, he felt only a bitter sort of resentment rising. He’d been cheated again. It seemed his lot in life.  But he would not yield. Not this time.

                “Show me Hector Barbossa!”

               

He placed his own hand roughly upon the map, and lines spread like black fire made of ink beneath his hand, racing along longitudes and latitudes in search. Will stared at him; “What do you want with Barbossa?”

               

“Where he is, Jack will be.”

               

They were both stunned then to see a clear black line reaching just a few short leagues ahead of them in the Atlantic, east bound towards the Bahamas and Nassau. Bill’s eyes flashed brightly as the ship revealed itself upon the map, floating upon the waves and the name Hector Barbossa appeared upon the chart. “I have ‘im…”

               

Will drew his hand away, looking at him firmly. “What are your intentions?”

               

His father blinked at him, and some of the drunken wicked light went out of his eyes, returning him to himself. “I will say my piece. That is all I ask, Captain. Grant me this one request. You don’t know how badly I need it.”

 

                The younger Turner looked dubiously at his father, unsure of himself. “You said it was Jack you wanted words with…I caution you to leave Barbossa out of this. I know you’re feelings on the man, and I do not believe it wise to provoke anything further between you two.”

 

“Worry not my lad, I intend no ill-will to our mutual acquaintance. That being said,” Bill put his arm around his captain’s shoulder and spoke softly into the shell of his ear; “would you not fancy a last farewell with the man who left you to this fate?”

               

Will paused, then nodded curtly. “Yes. I would.”

               

***

 

                The dark waters of the Atlantic spread out beneath the bow of The Queen Anne’s Revenge like a deep indigo curtain, glittering with sea foam and the reflection of the stars aloft. Hector was in his cabin, resting and preparing for a well-deserved night’s sleep with a goblet of rum and a mind heavy with wistful thoughts of the men he was missing. Jack was still somewhere in Haiti, tending to his cursed ship with only the company of Joshamee Gibbs. They had agreed to meet in a month’s time, but it seemed like it could not come soon enough. Especially after Hector’s return back to White Cap Bay had proved fruitless.

               

                He knew well that he should give himself more time, grieve the loss of the short lived love between himself and that of Theodore Groves. But Hector could not let the memory of the man go, nor the hope that somehow, someway, he would find him alive. Others were certain this nagging feeling was purely denial and that eventually he would let it pass. In his more sound moments, Barbossa couldn’t help but see their logic. Yet the feeling persisted, and would give him no reprieve. Jack would understand; there were pains that didn’t go away, wounds that didn’t heal.

 

                But all was not lost. Though Barbossa had not been able to find Groves, nor any information regarding the fate of those who managed to escape The Fountain alive, he had found something else of use. Or rather, _someone._

               

                The woman’s called herself Shansa, and Hector knew from the moment he saw her that she was everything the rumors claimed. The woman was a witch, a daughter of sea magic who worshiped the tides and the old gods. The villagers in the tiny hamlet that lay just north of White Cap Bay, far from the jungles and their treachery, were terrified of her and had been ready to sentence her to death. It was Hector who had plucked her from the gallows and swept her away from the miserable, suspicious hermits who had so longed for her blood to ease their paranoia of the wild and unpredictable world around them.

               

                But this was not an act of mere charity. He had spied the woman as she sat, chained and bound in her cart, waiting to be carried to the gallows. It was then, to his great surprise, that she looked at him in earnest and spoke to him; not to beg for her life but rather to deliver a message.

 

                “Champion of Calypso, you are far from home. What you seek no longer dwells here. Take your ships, return to your familiar shores. Your treasure will return to you there.”

 

                This was no vague fortune teller’s ruse, spoken to deceive the gullible and naïve. The woman knew him for the title Tia Dalma herself had placed upon him, something all too few knew. Her gifts, indeed, must be genuine.

 

                He brought her aboard his ship, promising her safe passage to wherever she wished, in exchange for whatever knowledge or insight she might have. So far, the woman had been less than forthcoming on further details about this supposed “treasure”, but Hector knew not to press. It would bring nothing but trouble on his head to rush the sea witch, or to make demands. A bargain was a bargain after all.

               

Shandy, his cabin boy was present then, for he had come into the cabin to warm and dry himself, after the earlier storm they had passed through that had drenched him.  He was currently perched on a stool in the corner reading by the great stain glass window at the back of the cabin—which once had held a terrifying image of Hell, as designed by its former captain; Edward Teach—but now contained images of Calypso below in the depths, churning a great whirlpool; a red snake like dragon rising upon the crest of a wave, and a sparrow soaring above it all.

               

Hector looked to him now; “Enjoying it, are ya?” he asked. The cabin boy looked up and his cheeks grew a little red; “I can only read a few of the words, Captain. It’s right difficult…” Hector smiled and beckoned him forward, “You keep studying, young man. You’ll get it in time.”

               

“Do you think so?” he asked as he handed the Captain back the thick tomb, which Hector laid upon his desk to be collected later.

               

Barbossa winked; “I know three languages readily, and I had no more schooling than you. I’m certain a clever boy like you will riddle it all out in time.” He ruffled the boy’s shaggy blonde hair. “And don’t let that degenerate Scrum discourage you. Just because he can’t tell ‘ _cat’_ from ‘ _kite’_ doesn’t mean you have to follow.”

               

Shandy chuckled and bent to help the Captain remove his peg leg. Hector winced at the pressure from the straps were released and then sighed, rubbing the circulation back into the stump as the boy set it aside. Shandy asked quietly, and Hector glanced up to see the young man was utterly captivated by his malady. “Does it hurt terribly, sir?”

               

“Pain is but a part of life, and this but a hard learned lesson.” The captain answered wistfully. “Go on then, off to bed with ye. You’ll be up with the dawn and I expect ye to be sharp eyed and ready! I’ll not permit sloppy work from ye!” Barbossa played at being gruff, but there was warmth in his tones and Shandy knew that the Captain was a man he could lend his trust to, the same way he had to Jack.

               

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

               

Shandy tucked the book beneath his arm and rushed towards the door, then gave pause, looking back at his Captain. “Do you miss him, sir?”

               

Hector looked up at him, red hair looking brighter in the lantern light. “Hmm?”

               

“Captain Jack?”

               

Barbossa shooed him off, saying only; “Do the sails miss the wind?”

               

                The boy closed the door behind him, and Hector shrugged himself out of his coat and undid his belt and sash, leaving all of his unneeded affects upon his chair before taking up his crutch and hobbling towards his bed. It felt too big and wide without Jack, and loneliness stabbed at him again. Hector ignored the pang with a snarl—he was hardly a stranger to loneliness. Besides, Jack would be back at his side again soon. Their rendezvous was set for only a few days from now. Perhaps then, some of this heaviness would be lifted from him. He knew he must look forward, not back.

 

 He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the gilded mirror, a sight that continued to surprise him. Hector was a man of nearly sixty, but he had the visage of a man in his prime of hardly more than twenty-five. All thanks to his last adventure with Jack Sparrow, who had met a similar fate at the Fountain of Youth.

               

Though Jack had relished his rejuvenation, Hector couldn’t quite get used to it. He scowled at his handsome reflection, scratching at his shortened beard and made to lie down, when he saw a shadow pass along the great window. Hector paused, staring. No cloud could have caused that, and as he moved to have a better look, he felt the deck below him give a gentle sway. Someone was sharing the water with them.

               

Forgetting sleep, the Captain hurried to his door, throwing it wide as he stepped onto deck. He opened his mouth to yell orders to the crewmen on watch, only to be met with a rather startling sight. Hector shouted and fell back against the door frame, clutching the old weathered wood for support. “Blast your eyes, William Turner! What the hell are ye doing on me ship!?”

               

Will looked back at him, a shadow of the young foolish whelp he had once been so long ago when Hector had first met him. Now he was a proper man, and a proper pirate. Not to mention the seafaring Harold of Death.

               

“Is Jack at home?” Will asked with a smirk.

               

Hector stared at him, blue eyes threating to pop out of his skull, lip curled in a confused sneer. “I beg yer pardon?”

               

“Jack Sparrow. Where is he?”

               

Hector looked at him a little closer and Will did the same, glancing down at the absence of his leg; “What have you been up to Captain Barbossa?” he cooed, seeming both curious and slightly mocking.

 

                It was as he said this that Hector got a whiff of his breath and winced, rolling his eyes. “Aye, Calypso in her infinite wisdom surely picked a good man to ferry the souls of the dead. Yer three sheets to the wind, ye drunken idiot! And to answer your question, Jack is not—“

               

He became aware of a second presence beyond him and pushed past Will, who let him go without a fight. He could see, standing middeck, eyes hard set and determined, the unforgettable figure of Bootstrap Bill. “Bloody hell…a whole mess of Turners. Just what I need.” Hector muttered, holding his head. “If ye be looking for Sparrow he’s not here! And don’t be asking where ye can find ‘im, as I’m not privileged to that information. Now if ye’d be so kind to remove your ghoulish selves from me ship, I’d be much obliged. Yer bad luck, the lot of ye.”

               

Bootstrap strode towards him with a confidence that Hector had never known him to have; his face set in serious lines of resolve; but his eyes held a torrent of emotion, and none of them good. “Where are you hiding them?”

               

“’Them’?” Hector repeated, more confused than before.

 

It was not until Bill came within the circle of light created by the torches flanking the cabin door that he actually saw Barbossa for who he was. He was startled to say the least, for he had expected a very different sight. The man before him looked as if he could be Barbossa’s own son, for he was too young and lithe to be pirate he had last seen bleeding from a bloody lip he had dealt aboard the Dutchman. But the closer he looked at his face, the more it was unmistakably the same man. Bill felt dizzy for a moment, like he had been hurled into his memories. Those were the same cold blue eyes that had leered at him every day since he had come aboard the Black Pearl, the same eyes that had bore into him that horrible night he’d been abused and fucked just for spite before being cast overboard.

 

The shudder of confusion that had caused him to hesitate vanished, and he started forward again, clearing the distance between himself and the Captain. Those blue eyes didn’t look so cold then. They looked concerned, irritated and to Bill’s dark enjoyment—intimidated. “Well, Barbossa. We meet again.”

 

“Imagine my immense joy.” Barbossa snarled sarcastically, casting about for any sign of his crew. It made him wonder why no one had noticed these intruders or the ghostly shroud of the Flying Dutchman floating nearby.  “As I be telling yer boy here, Sparrow be not aboard. He has business elsewhere of late. Don’t expect to see him again for a time.”

 

Will knocked past him, searching the cabin for signs of Jack. Hector let him pass with only a vague curse of protest—it would do little good to argue with the proverbial grim reaper about personal space. When he looked back, Bill was still staring at him hard. Barbossa felt his skin crawl a little under such intense scrutiny and poked the man in the chest with his crutch, endeavoring to push him back a step. “Your eyes are not tricked. I am as you see me.”

 

“How?”

 

“A little mishap at the Fountain of Youth. Or did you and your boy not come to claim the wayward soul of Edward Teach in time for him to tell you the tale?”

 

“Only souls lost at sea are ours to take.” Bill replied. “You know that well.”

 

Hector chuckled lightly; “Forgive me. My memory’s not what it used to be.” He tapped his temple, “Must be getting on in years.” He derived a small spark of pleasure from Bill’s look of vexation. Though he no longer cared one way or the other of the fate of Bootstrap Bill, he had not forgotten what had passed between them. “What is ye want with Jack?” He spoke with an easy air of superiority that was so comfortable for him, but there was a growing fear in his mind.

 

Bill smirked; an unaccustomed expression upon his usually sullen face. Staring at each other in the firelight, Hector could see that he was a changed man. Doubtfully for the better. “Unfinished business, as it were.” Bill answered coldly.

 

Hector marveled at how many people had “unfinished business” with Jack Sparrow.

 

“He’s not here.” Will said then, emerging from inside the cabin.

 

Hector hobbled towards the rail, knocking shoulders with Bill as he looked down at his crewmen, ready to scream for their attention and demand to know why they had all seemingly been struck blind. But as he looked down at them he realized that they were all standing still as statues, unmoving, frozen in their tasks. Indeed, the whole ship, with the exception of himself, Will and Bootstrap seemed to be in some bewitched state. “Now, I’ve been courteous to ye gents, but I’m afraid my hospitality is running a wee bit thin. Release me ship and crew and be on your way!”

 

Will was ready to admit their errand had been in folly when Bill did something that surprised them both. He grabbed Barbossa’s crutch out from under him as the man made to move off, causing him to yell and fall flat upon the deck.

 

“What are you doing!?” Will gasped, but Bill was past hearing him. As Hector struggled to gain some kind of footing and right himself, Bootstrap bent and hoisted him up over his shoulder. “You’re not the prize I intended, but you’ll do.”

 

“BOOTSTRAP! YE BLEEDING SON OF A PRIG! PUT ME DOWN, OR I SWEAR TO YE BY THE POWERS I’LL FLAY YE ALIVE!”

 

Bill smirked at his shrieking. It was good to see some things about Hector hadn’t changed. He glanced briefly back at Will, who was standing there, still drunk and stunned. “Permission to go aboard, Captain?”

 

Will hesitated. This felt wrong somehow, but the more Barbossa bellowed in protest, the more he remembered his time with the man on their journey to the Locker, and whatever small bit of pity he had went out of him, overshadowed by the glee of impending retribution.

 

Hector bellowed and kicked, clawing at Bill’s back until he had tattered his shirt with his nails. When Bootstrap grew tired of the sound of his outrage, he turned sharply, causing Hector to strike his head alongside the ship, which stunned him into silence. “Much better.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

                The crew of _The Flying Dutchman_ stood at their posts, staring curiously as the Captain and First Mate rejoined the crew, eyeing the man flung over Bootstrap’s shoulder. “Didn’t know we was takin’ on hostages.” Old Haddy mused dully.

               

“He’s not a hostage,” Will answered, though he felt dubious about the truth of this statement; “He’s a guest.”

               

Maccus, who was as brazen and bold as he had ever been, approached from behind, grabbing a fist full of the limp man’s brilliant red hair and hoisted his head up to have a look at his face; “Blimey! It’s that old sea serpent Barbossa!” He squinted then in the light of the lanterns; “Funny, I thought he looked a bit…hairier last I saw him.”

               

Bill turned sharply, producing his trademark knife from his bootstrap and brandishing it at the other sailor. “He’s mine, understand!”

               

Maccus backed off but snickered and added; “Thought you had a taste for salter meat, Bill?” Bootstrap’s eye lit up like the lanterns hanging above them and for a moment it looked as if he would slash Maccus wide and spill his innards all over the ship.

 

Captain Turner bellowed then, pushing the two further away and wrestling the knife from Bill’s hand. “There will be no quarrelling upon this ship!” he barked, staring from the other crewmen to his First Mate. “And I will be keeping this until your business with Captain Barbossa is concluded.”

                Bootstrap looked as if about to protest, but his son’s eyes were dark and challenging, and he could see that he was the more sober man just then.

 

 “Aye, Captain.” He turned and stalked away, straight for the Captain’s quarters. It was not unusual that Bootstrap would come and go from there, given the privileges he had, but this particular instance made Will especially uneasy.  He cast his gaze back at The Queen Anne’s Revenge, which was floating freely again, free from the spell of the ship. He wondered if any of them realized that their Captain had gone missing, or what they would do when they did.

               

He promised himself then, for the sake of his relationship with not only Jack, but his own wife Elizabeth, that Barbossa would be returned safely at dawn to his vessel. But not a minute before.

 

 

***

 

 

                Bill deposited Hector’s slack figure upon the bed like an old sack of flour, watching him bounce slightly on the bedding. He cast about for a bit of rope and used it bind the unconscious man’s hands behind his back. Barbossa’s slack compliance began to irritate him then, for he longed for an opponent; something to focus his anger upon. He grabbed him up by the open fronts of his tunic and dealt him a hard blow across the face; “Up with ye, blighter! I did not bring you here to waste my breath!”

               

Hector groaned, the stinging in his face bringing him spinning back to reality. The dark interior of the Dutchman’s cabin revealed itself before his eyes, shocking him completely, and in its’ forefront, holding him up right was the snarling face of Bootstrap Bill Turner.

               

“What’s the meaning of--!”

               

Bill hit him again, hard, and sent him face down into the bed clothes, cheek bone throbbing. Bill rubbed his knuckles, breathing heavily. He had the urge to fall upon Barbossa and beat him bloody, but he held himself back, if only by the smallest thread of sanity. “I’ll ask the questions.” He muttered.

               

Barbossa turned his face towards him again; “Very well, then I’ll say only this; when my crew finds me gone you’ll get the fight of your life; ghost ship or no. And before you continue with whatever ill-conceived plan it is ye have to finish me, ye might want to be thinking about what our dear Captain Sparrow would have to say about it.”

               

Bill snarled, pacing around the length of the bed. He was clearly agitated, and ready for a fight. But he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, or how to begin. Hector could have laughed at the man’s frustrations, were he not certain it would earn him a beating he would not soon forget. The hard years of labor in Jones’ service had made Bill powerfully strong, a formidable foe for the pirate who had skill with a blade but not as much agility as he used to possess.

               

Bootstrap leered at the cuffed and pinned leg of his trousers. “What happened to your leg?”

               

“Blackbeard.” Hector replied. “Not that I need both of them to be planting my boot properly up your--!” Bill seized him by the throat and shook him, pushing him down into the mattress; “You will not speak down to me! I am not your lowly crewman anymore Barbossa! I am nobody’s slave, and no one is my master! I could kill you now, do you understand!? Oh how I wish to…!”

               

Barbossa’s eyes were wide and frightened in the swaying candle light of the room as the ship rocked back and forth, for he could do nothing to defend himself with all of Bill’s bodyweight pressing down upon him and his fingers clenched so tightly about his throat.

 

Bill saw that fear and was stunned by it; and so he recoiled again. His fingers trembled; he was terrified of this monster that had arisen in him; this hate and anger fueled Gollum he could scarcely master. And much of him did not want to. Much of him could no longer resist it’s urges. “Where is Jack?”

               

“I told you, I don’t know.” Barbossa answered, his voice a bit strained from the abuse his neck had taken.

               

 _“Lies.”_ The older sailor snarled.

 

                “Killing me will bring you no closer to him!” Hector barked right back. “Or are you so drunk and stupid that you haven’t riddled that out? You were an average sailor, Turner, but yer a miserable pirate!”

 

                Bill sat in silence, and that was perhaps more unnerving to Hector than his previous bout of rage against him. But Hector was too incensed to remain quiet, and so leered back at the man, frustrated with his attempts to intimidate him. “So what _is_ it ye be wanting with me, Turner? You mean to pay me back for my crimes, is that it?”

 

                “You do not even deny it?” Bill muttered. “Have you no shame? Or is that a feeling that no longer troubles you?”

 

                Hector rolled his eyes. “Nay, I don’t deny what I did to ye fifteen years ago was a crime fitting of a hefty punishment. Nor will I try to excuse it by claiming madness, though mad I was. So, if it’s revenge yer seeking, I cannot begrudge you that. But I cannot undo what is done; and I cannot be tried for a murder I didn’t commit.”

 

                _“’Murder’?”_ Bill repeated, looking back at him once more. “Oh, how I wish you had only _murdered me_ , Barbossa. How I wished it every day! You cannot understand the hell you sent me to. I still cannot make sense of it! I thought I was saving myself, when I joined Jones’ crew. But all I was doing was paying my passage into the devil’s realm itself!”

               

He shuddered at the memory, for he felt he could still feel the cold slip of Jones’ hands across his skin. They were always cold, even before the curse made him a monster. Always as cold as death.

 

“My life had always been a disappointment,” Bootstrap said then calmly, casting about the cabin for a drink, which he found readily. He pulled the cork from a wine bottle with teeth and spat it onto the floor before taking a deep drink of it and wiping the escaped droplets that raced down his chin with his sleeve. “I was a simple man of simple means. I had a wife and a child and a good job as a merchant. But I was never…happy.  It was not until that day that Jack scrambled into my shop to hide from the navy guard that I could give my unhappiness a name. Jack made me see it, because he was everything I wasn’t. He was young and free and unattached; brash and unashamed. And I desired his life. I desired _him_. Yes, I think from that first moment…” he smiled wistfully at the memory and ignored the way Hector looked at him with contempt. This was precisely what had driven him to hate Bootstrap after all; his feelings for Jack, despite knowing he loved Hector.

 

“And even when I had lost everything, I still held hope, because I was near him. And I watched the two of you from afar…” He looked back to Hector and smirked; “And you looked at me just as you do now. As if I am some pathetic dog to be kicked and trodden upon.  What did I know of pirating? What did I know of anything? How could a lowly man like me ever hope to win the affections of a Pirate Lord’s son?” He allowed himself a small, mean smile then. “Well, I suppose I managed. Didn’t I?”

 

                Hector snarled, showing teeth, eyes bright and angry. “And it seems ye still have not learned your lesson, ye jealous cad. You coveted what was not yours to have!” He kicked out at him with his one remaining leg and managed to catch Bill in the stomach, knocking him back into a table and over turning the items upon it, sending them crashing to the floor. Hector heaved himself over the edge of the bed, fell upon the floor with a grunt and tried to squirm along the ground towards the door leading into the organ room; anything to put distance between himself and Bootstrap Bill.

               

But the First Mate collected himself quickly and went after him, catching Hector by the ankle and hauling him backward across the floor. “Where are you going, you snake?! You’re not going to crawl away from me now!”

               

Hector kicked and squirmed, unable to get his hands free from their bonds. When Bill reached for his head, he sunk his teeth into his hand and clamped down tightly, tasting blood as the other pirate bellowed. Bootstrap clouted him in the head as reward, and Hector went down with a thunk and didn’t struggle any further.  Bill sat on the floor with him among the displaced blankets, fallen candle sticks and broken glass from the overturned wine bottles, trying to catch his breath. It felt like his anger was going to smother him and trembled even further. 

               

“I loved him, don’t you see? _I loved him so much!_ And I was patient, and I bided my time, content just to be near him, even if he wasn’t mine. It’s a terrible, helpless feeling, having no power to claim what you so desperately desire. Can you understand, Hector? Can you even begin to comprehend?”

               

Barbossa said nothing of course, his eyes closed and face slack. Bill picked him up again and laid him a bit more gently on the bed. “You miserable wretch, look at you. You once sent me trembling my boots and now…are we even the same people, I wonder?”

               

                In his drunkenness, Bill found it difficult to keep his rage focused. He had expected a very different confrontation in his mind with this man; he had built it up to be some epic battle between good and evil in his mind. But there was no evil in Hector. Not anymore. He was painfully human; fragile and flawed. His strange, unnatural youth skewed his perspective even further, especially while he was lying so still and passive upon the bed. 

 

Bootstrap cursed himself for attacking the man so unfairly. This was not like him. But that was the hell of it all, wasn’t it? Bill was not interested in being himself that evening; for what had that ever gotten him in life?

               

He took another drink from the wine bottle, trying to calm his nerves and focus his mind. “Perhaps this was a mistake…” he muttered to himself, pacing about nervously. He wondered what Jack would have to say, but the idea of it made his head throb even more. He knew he was in the right; Hector had done evil things and so deserved evil visited upon him. But could Bill really be the man to bring that judgement down? And if not him, then who? Fate certainly wasn’t taking the lead; it had rewarded Hector in his eyes. Giving him his youth back, a grand ship to captain, and Jack’s heart…

               

                The world was so miserably cruel and unfair and it burned Bill up inside, as sure as if he had swallowed hot coals.

               

                “You can’t even kill a man right…” Hector mumbled softly then, bringing Bill’s attention back to him. The last blow had made him a bit more docile, and he didn’t try to strike out at Bill any further, but laid there blinking at him with hooded lids and a dazed stare. “I guess Norrington was just a fluke…”

               

Bill wasn’t sure of whom he spoke and so he ignored it and moved closer to his captive. “I will bring worse upon you if you mock me. You of all people should know that there are fates worse than death, Barbossa.”

               

Hector chuckled deliriously in reply; “Ye think you’re the only victim in all this, do ye? Selfish as ye are cowardly and stupid. Being a member of Jones’ crew released ye from the Curse of Cortez. Would you have preferred it, I wonder?”

 

                “Yes. A thousand times over.”

               

“Then you’re a fool.”

 

                Bill shuddered with anger. It seemed no matter what he did it was not enough to shake Barbossa’s vain confidence. “Ten years without feeling; aye that is a fate I would have relished, compared to ten years of torment at the hands of Jones’; a whipping boy for his every whim, barely human unless he deigned me otherwise. I was used, repeatedly to sate his lust, his hunger for human contact. And it was never enough.  Not until the curse took hold was there a reprieve. And by then, I was such a vile thing that no one would want me.” He thought back to his meeting with Sparrow aboard the Pearl, when he had given him the Black Spot. He thought of how Jack had looked at him in such horror and recoiled from the sight of him and angry tears sprung to his blood shot eyes.

 

                “My whole life, Barbossa! My whole life--stolen by the likes of pirates and their selfish whims! You think that a debt is not owed!?”

               

“It was your bloody choice!” Hector returned then, much to the First Mate’s surprise.  “All of it, Bill Turner.  Casting about for someone to blame is easy, aye, I know it well.  But in the end when you’re left to face judgment, ye see that the world cannot be held responsible for your own poor decisions!”

               

“How dare you…you think I chose this!?”

               

“It was you who chose to follow Jack into danger! You who defended him when ye could have cast him aside just as easily! You who abandoned your wife and child to go chasing after a man already attached. It was _you_ , Bill Turner, who took advantage of our quarrels; who placed yourself between he and I as if ye had a right, when none of it concerned you! And it was you who chose then to send off your piece of eight to the boy, cursing yourself and drawing him into the mess as a result! Ye had a say in all your choices, Bill! So don’t go blaming Jack or m’self for your regrets!”

               

                A fiery pain had appeared in Bill’s chest, the likes that he had never felt before. That Hector could lie there and turn all of his pain around on him as if he had been asking for it all along was an insult that the sailor couldn’t submit to.

               

                He grabbed Hector up then and dragged him from the cabin, hauling him out onto the deck and dragging him towards the mast. Hector struggled, but could not get free, try as he might. Bill slammed him up against the slimy, algae covered wood and replaced the ropes that bound his wrists to bind him there firmly.

               

                Barbossa cursed and bellowed, but it did little good. The rest of the Dutchman’s crew gathered closer to see what the commotion was, but none moved to intercede. Barbossa thought he recognized a few of them from years past, old members of his own blood thirsty crew when he commanded _The Black Pearl_ , and this did not surprise him.

 

“Going to flog me?” Hector asked, though there was a slight waver in his voice, “Aye, that makes you a big man, doesn’t it? Attacking a man who cannot defend himself. You’re a coward Bill, you always were!”

               

Bootstrap struck him again across the face to silence him, opening a gash upon Hector’s cheek bone and causing his nose and lip to spurt blood. “Shut up!” he barked, eyes boring into Hector’s, “I don’t think you understand the precarious situation you find yourself in, Barbossa. You are at _my_ mercy for once. And you are going to see just how little of it I have for the likes of you.”

 

He stepped back and Hector waited for him to brandish a whip or a cat-o-nine-tails, or some other method of torture. Instead, Bill just stood, folding his hands neatly behind his back, eyes fixed on him as he called back to the helm’s men. “Bring ‘er down!”

 

“Down?” Hector muttered, not understanding. The crew around them muttered among themselves, some beginning to chuckle. It was then that Hector heard the hard crash of water upon the bow of the ship, felt it tipping forward as if rolling with a wave, and felt the spray of sea water upon his back.

His eyes widened impossibly as he realized that Bill meant to submerge the ship; as _only The Flying Dutchman_ could do, allowing it to sail both above and below the sea in its deepest depths. Members of the crew were unbothered by the unnatural occurrence, for upon joining the crew they became part of its strange otherworldly magic, and no natural death could take hold of them. They had no fear of drowning.

 

But Hector did.

 

A very pronounced fear, in fact.

 

Already he felt his boot sliding beneath him as he was pinned to the mast by both the rope and gravity and water rushed up to meet them, sinking them quickly to his knees and then moving swiftly to his waist. Within seconds they would be completely under water.

 

Panicked, Barbossa cursed and pulled hard against his bonds, heart racing. He couldn’t swim, even after all these years, his fear of the water had remained. Sao had always teased him for it, and Jack too, but they also understood that this fear was real and tangible. Love the ocean he did, but the idea of being submerged beneath her waves, as he had once in the clutches of the terrible Kraken on that shipwreck long ago…he couldn’t breathe.

 

The water came to this neck now and Bill was just staring at him, unmoved, untouched by his desperation. It would do him no good to beg. Once he had watched Bill Turner sink to the depths with the same terrified expression that he himself must be wearing. The old him deserved this fate; but that didn’t mean that he was ready to die.

 

He tilted back his head, tears his in eyes and took a last screaming breath and then was under. The ship descended, slow and steady beneath the waves, and Hector watched the moonlight above them as it danced on the surface grow fainter and fainter.

 

His lungs were burning for lack of fresh air, salt stung his eyes and his nose and the open wounds on his face. He continued to pull at the ropes around his wrists, but they would not come free, they were too tight and his fingers were virtually numb.

 

He looked again at Bill, who moved easily along the deck, and came to stand before him, watching him carefully. “Why don’t you take a breath, Hector?” he mocked. “Beg me for mercy.”

 

His captive continued to thrash, though it was only sapping him of his remaining energy. The last of his oxygen had already rushed away, racing to the surface in cloud of tiny bubbles. He was ice cold in the deep salt water, and blackness was already eating away his vision. He was going to die, and the last thing he would see in this world was Bootstrap Bill Turner, staring him down with those sad hooded eyes, feeling triumphant in his revenge. He would never see Jack again.

 

Barbossa went slack against the mast, eyes closing, having lost the fight. It was then that Bill turned sharply to the helmsman and shouted a command. A second later, the ship was rising rapidly upward, until it came crashing through the surface again.

 

The moment the was above the water line, Hector began coughing and sputtering, trying to suck in air as quickly as he was trying to expel water from his throat and lungs. Bill moved around him and cut him loose from the mast, letting him fall flat upon the deck, where he lay spitting and shuddering without trying to lift himself for several minutes.

 

The crew around them laughed at his torment, until Will appeared, marching hastily through the crowd until he came upon Barbossa and Bootstrap. He seized his father by the front of his coat, knocking him away from the half-drowned man on the deck below them. “What is the meaning of this!?” he shouted, shaking him. “What are you doing!? Attempting to murder a man on my ship!? Have you lost your mind!?”

 

“Do not defend him!” Bill bit back, shaking the younger man away from him. “ _He_ brought this on his own head! Or have you forgotten what he did to me!? Have you forgotten that _he_ is the reason I was taken from you!?”

 

Will looked at his father piteously for a moment. “Was he?” he asked quietly.

And at this, Bill found himself struck dumb.

 

Captain Turner moved then towards Barbossa’s fallen form and motioned for another crewman to approach. Hector was lifted from his fallen place, and carried back towards Will’s cabin, with the captain himself at the lead, leaving Bootstrap standing mutely on the deck.

 

 

**

 

                Hector was out of danger, but only for the moment. Will looked the stunned man over, relieved that it appeared no lasting damage had been done to him. But that far from negated what Bill had attempted to do.

 

                The whole experience was extremely sobering for the young man, and he realized that his father was farther gone than he may have realized. Will knew what it was to hate Hector, he knew what it was to want revenge…once he had stooped to such levels himself, involving, ironically, a very similar situation. Looking back on it now though, he shuddered. These treacheries were beneath both of them and he could not allow the behavior to escalate any further.

 

                He resolved that Hector had to be returned to his ship immediately, before anything else could happen. But he had no sooner turned to leave his state room when Bill appeared in the doorway. He looked hurriedly past his son to the prone figure on the bed.

               

                “Is he dead?”

               

                Will pushed the man back out the door, closing it behind him. “Count your blessings he isn’t!” he hissed. “Do you realize what you could have done? Do you really hate the man so much you are willing to become a murderer?”

 

                “You don’t understand—“

               

                “Yes, father, I do! I loved Jack too, or have you forgotten so quickly?”

               

                Again, Bill was brought to silence and he stood there gawking in his post-drunk haze.

 

                “I…”

               

                Will shoved past him, shutting and locking the door behind him, glaring at Bill. “Do not touch him again. We are returning him to his ship.”

 

                “I am not through with him.”

 

                “Yes,” Will snapped. “You are.”

 

                He moved away from the man, only to feel Bill clamp his hand around his wrist and tug him back hard, glaring at him. “This is not your concern.” He muttered, having half a mind to outright attack the man for trying to come between him and the object of his revenge. But the startled look in Will’s eyes brought him out of the red haze that had clouded his judgement, and he let the man go, saying nothing else.

 

                Will looked at him for a long time and neither of them spoke a word, but Bootstrap beseeched him for forgiveness, for understanding with his eyes. Finally he spoke again, “The man is poison to you, and having him here will bring neither of anything but woe. I suggest you return to your duties and forget this ever happened.”

 

                Bootstrap watched him go, leaving him behind. He waited until he heard Will on deck again, shouting orders, then moved to the map upon the wall, seeing that The Queen Ann’s Revenge was indeed following them, and if Will turned them around, they would be upon each other before sunrise.

 

                That didn’t give Bill much time.

 

 

**

 

               

                In the cabin, Hector was beginning to revive from his ordeal, head pounding, everything burning from salt water. It took several minutes for him to realize that while he was not dead, his situation hadn’t much improved, still trapped aboard the Dutchman. The small saving grace was that for the moment, he was alone, away from Bill and his unstable temper.

 

                Hector rolled onto his belly and tried to calm his breathing and get his bearings. He needed to gather himself and focus on an escape, though that idea was feeling more and more impossible every second. He would have killed to have Jack there with him now; for escapes from seemingly impossible situations had always been his lover’s forte, not Hector’s.

 

                Outside the windows of the cabin, Barbossa could see that it was still dark, and the ship was shrouded in an unnatural fog that often cloaked it when it sailed on the open water. He made to move from the bed to have a better look; perhaps if he could see the stars, he might get a better idea what his position was. But he had no sooner made it to the window ledge than the door knob rattled and twisted, and Bootstrap stepped inside again, closing it silently behind him.

 

                Hector grabbed the weapon nearest to him, which was a short sword and brandished it at the man, though he was several feet away from him. “Not another step,” he warned.

 

                Bill moved, but not towards him. Instead he sat himself somewhat stiffly in an old wooden chair by the door, glancing around at the dark room as though he were afraid the shadows inside might be alive and ready to swallow him whole.

 

                “So that’s what you look like when you’re afraid,” Bootstrap said then after a moment, his voice having returned to that soft, sad drawl that it had previously possessed. “I must admit, it was somewhat satisfying to see.”

 

                The redhead scowled, daring him to move any closer, but Bill remained where he was. “Funny, isn’t it? How fortunes change. Our roles reversed for the first time. So let me ask you, Hector…do you think he’ll hasten all to your rescue?”

                Barbossa rolled his eyes at the comment, “Was that your little master plan, Bill? Take me, and Jack will come running? And then what, I wonder? You’d sweep him off his feet I suppose, remind him of the good times ye shared, convince him to drop everything and fall into yer arms again?”

               

                The Englishman did not care for any more of his mockery. “Well, it certainly seemed to work for yourself.”

 

                But rather than be insulted, Barbossa just laughed, though the sound of coarse and dry.  “Let me explain something to you. There’s no _making_ Jack Sparrow do anything that he damn well doesn’t want to. The man has always been that way, and no power you or I have would ever change that.”

 

                The older man stood, glaring. “You betrayed him. You don’t deserve him.”

 

                “And he betrayed me in kind. We took that pain and carried it ten years, let it fill us both with hate, let it poison us. And Jack got his revenge; Bill. For all I did. Did you know that, I wonder? Shot me, he did, right through the heart. The first thing I felt in ten years.” He hated that memory, and there were times it would still wake him up in the night, chilled to the bone from it.  He was grateful that now when he woke from that memory, that it was Jack himself who would draw him into his arms to comfort him, instead of lying alone in an empty bed.

 

                “I paid for my treacheries, Bill. I’m not that man anymore. But you’re still the same covetous, self-pitying deckhand you always were. The world has moved on, Turner, it’s time you did the same.”

 

                “I know you’re right.”

 

                Hector hadn’t expected this response, and so remained mute. Bill rose from his chair then and Hector flicked the blade at him, but it didn’t stop his approach. “But memories are all I have. And maybe you’re right...after all, Jack never would have fallen into my arms in the first place, were it not for your actions. Perhaps I loved him more than he ever loved me. But that’s alright. I can live with that.”

 

                The redhead looked back at him in confusion, continuing to doubt Bill’s sanity every second he was on the ship. He heard water thudding against the haul outside and drew his gaze away from the man—only for a second—to glance out the window. The ship was turning about, making a wide right as it came around, reversing their course. This was a strange move, Hector thought, and one that could mean little except that it was doubling back the way it had come—towards the Queen Ann.

 

                But his momentary distraction proved a mistake. Bill swept forward, and before Hector could run him through, managed to wrestle the short blade from the man’s hand and pin him roughly up against the window. “Get off!” Barbossa barked, but Bill would not be moved.

 

                “Be silent,” the brunette hissed at him, taking the blade he had twisted from Hector’s hand and pressing it wearily against the man’s neck, letting it leave a thin slice upon it where blood formed in thick ruby red beads before running slowly downward.

 

He took stock of Barbossa then, admiring the bruising he’d left on his on his face, and the delicate copper line of his mustache and beard, even the scar beneath his eye. Hector was no Jack when it came to a classic sense of beauty, but that did not make him unattractive. This was not lost on Bill, even as dark thoughts floated through his mind of all the ways he could make the other man so ugly that Jack would recoil from him the same we had himself in the haul of the ship.

               

He ran his fingers across Hector’s jaw, and down the long column of his neck, smearing the blood from the blade across his skin with his thumb before licking it away, staring Hector in the eyes as he did. Hector’s bruised cheeks flushed the particularly unsettling intimacy of it, and then he gasped quietly in spite of himself when Bill’s free hand pulled his shirt down his shoulders, running a rough hand over his chest and moving downward.

 

“Do not touch me…” Hector muttered. He tried to roll away, but Bill grabbed him with a rough hand and kept him forcefully still, flattening him against the window well before pulling his hips forward and settling between his legs. “Damn you! What are you doing!?”

 

                Bill cut him again, this time across the chest and slightly deeper, making Hector gasp at the sharp sting of it. “I told you to be quiet.” Bootstrap warned. He leaned forward and licked the blood away from this wound too, then turned his mouth against Hector’s nipple, which he licked and scraped with his teeth, making the other man squirm in response.

 

                “Bastard! If you think for one second I’m going to lie here quietly and let you—“

 

                “Look at me, Hector.” Bill commanded then, voice hard and biting. “You call me a covetous, miserable wretch. Then tell me what it is I have to lose by killing you here? Honor? Dignity? No, I lost those long ago.  I will murder you, and when I find Sparrow, I will say that I tried to save you from your sad fate, but was too late. Jack will take it hard, I imagine. He’ll need someone to help him through the grief…someone he trusts.”

 

                Hector could scarcely believe what he was hearing and gawked at Bill, realizing the depths of his madness. “And if I comply?” he muttered.

 

                “You return to your ship and we go our separate ways. I’ll darken your path no longer.”

 

                “What about Jack?”

 

                “You’d best hope you satisfy me then,” Bill replied, moving in and pressing his mouth harshly against Hector’s.  Barbossa winced, tasting the liquor on his mouth, revolted. Bill conquered his mouth, lowering the weapon once he was convinced of Hector’s compliance and instead knotted his fingers in the other pirate’s hair, turning his head to suit his position better and allow him to deepen the kiss further.

               

It became somewhat of a battle between them, their teeth knocking together occasionally, each man struggling for control over the other, ending with Bill finally letting him come up for air, having left Hector’s lips bitten and swollen.

 

                “You enjoy a power struggle, don’t you?” he chuckled, and Hector sneered at him. Bill held him still as he traced the teardrop shaped scar that ran down his cheek. “Jack told me once that you’d been given this scar by a former lover in battle.” He could see in Barbossa’s eyes that the words were true and that they lead to somewhere deeper, somewhere painful. Bill felt very much then like prodding that soft spot with something sharp. “Did he throw you away, Hector? Or were you as ungrateful a lover to this one as you were to Jack.”

               

“Shut your mouth!” Hector exploded in spite of himself. Sao was now resting in a watery grave, but he’d be damned if _Bill Turner_ were to have a say in what passed between the two of them when was alive, for good or ill. Bill had no right.

 

                Bill grinned, dark hair hanging in his face in loose wavy strands, and in the flickering candlelight, Hector saw a light in the man’s eyes that could only be described as fiendish; “Touched a nerve have I? Good.”

               

                The other pirate ignored him, biting and nipping his way down his skin, all without giving Hector an inch. Bill made his way down to his naval and paused, tearing off his belt and yanking the fabric of his trousers down in a swift yank. Hector shouted as they came away, leaving him lying there stark naked on the edge of the window seat.

               

Bill’s eyes went first to the obvious, and then down to the man’s maimed stump. “It must have pained you terribly, that injury. I wonder how Jack feels about it.”

 

He touched the place where the skin had created thick scaring and Hector jumped reflexively, but only scoffed; “Doesn’t seem to trouble him too much when it’s thrown over his shoulder while he’s sucking me off.”

 

Bill looked momentarily abashed and Hector just grinned, enjoying getting a rise out of the man, despite his precarious position. “Tell me, Bill, in those few short weeks you had together before the end, did he ever call _my_ name while you were fuckin’ him?”

 

The brunette crushed a hand over his mouth to silence him and pressed himself closer, leaving several harsh bites upon Hector’s throat and collar bone. With his other hand he reached between Hector’s thighs and gripped his cock in his hand, giving it a rough squeeze and feeling a rush of blood there as a result.

 

Barbossa swore against his palm, but Bill wouldn’t relent and Hector knew he could do nothing without the threat of Bill nullifying their deal.  “Horrible, isn’t it? Lying as you are, unable to do anything, while another man does whatever he pleases with ya, just for spite.” His voice was choked as he said this, feeling his own painful memories rushing to the surface. He pressed his face against Hector’s neck, needing to hide his faltering expression. A battle of conscience had begun inside him, knowing what he was doing was against everything he truly was. But he was so, so angry. And he had suffered so long without reprieve. He wanted Hector to hurt the way he had. He _needed_ someone to feel the same helplessness, and who better than the man who had sent him to the depths, only to return and take everything from him again.

               

“So this is the revenge ye want? Eye for an eye. Go ahead then,” the redhead muttered, though there was a slight tremble in his words. “Jack still looks upon ye as a friend, but I swear if you do this he’ll hate you more than he ever hated me.”

 

Hector hoped this would give Bill pause, bring some sanity back into him. But though Bill didn’t move as roughly, he didn’t release him either, continuing to rub and grope him until Hector was thoroughly and uncomfortably hard in his hand.

 

“Jack doesn’t need to know. This is between you and me. A debt repaid.”

               

                Bill had not been with anyone in nearly six years, and deep down he knew that this was not how he would have chosen to end his celibacy otherwise; but if this release could bring him some vindication, then he wouldn’t argue with his drink smothered conscience about it. He continued his earlier mistreatment of the sailor’s skin with his teeth and hands, leaving hard and bruising bites across his chest, shoulders, neck and the lean lines of his waist. Barbossa cursed him and gasped, but struggled to remain stoic about the whole thing, to go elsewhere in his mind. Bill realized that Hector must be more familiar with this treatment than he had first guessed, as most men would have been howling and by now.

               

“You haven’t had many lovers, have you?” he asked, undoing the buttons on his breeches and letting them fall down around his ankles as he moved against the man, grinding against his leg as he pinned him to the ledge. That friction alone was almost enough to set Bill off, so he went slowly, keeping his focus on teasing Barbossa.

 

                Hector ignored him, staring out the windows as Bill moved to kneel between his legs again, pulling his thighs apart so that he could gain more access to the man. Barbossa sputtered at how close the brunette sailor’s face was to groin and how unabashed Bill seemed to be there. “The man before Jack…I’m betting he was your first. The man who broke you in.” The idea was somewhat amusing to him; Barbossa as some wide-eyed whelp who’d never been touched that way before, except maybe by his own hand. The idea was oddly enticing.

               

“I swear to God, Bill, I will cut out your bleedin’ tongue!”

               

“You’re very sensitive on the issue,” Bootstrap mused, squeezing Hector’s rear and earning a little whimper from him. “And elsewhere too, it seems.” He dipped his head down to lick the man and Hector drew in a sharp breath in spite of himself, thigh muscles taught as Bill teased him. He hadn’t done this with many men, or very often. Jack had always been fond of the treatment, and Jones would sometimes force him into it. Bill had never liked being on the giving end, yet he had developed some skill at it, more out of necessity than anything else. And now he was going to put this same skill to use on his captive.

 

Hector angrily closed his eyes and sunk his teeth into his lower lip, determined not to make a sound and to think of anything else. Feelings needn’t be involved, and pleasure wasn’t his concern just then. If he could suffer through the motions of it all in one piece he might be able to escape this blasted ship with skin intact. And when he returned to his ship…oh Bill Turner had better run. He’d better hide. Sink to the depths and never show his face—

               

Bill stroked him and sucked him hard and Hector shuddered, “Ooooh!” he gasped, caught off guard by the intensity of the sensation. He glanced down at Bill, who was not looking at him thankfully and grabbed his long greasy hair, trying to tug him back, but Bill only grabbed his wrist and pinned it down again.

 

“None of that,” he warned.

 

“Just get it over with…” Hector muttered, face red and flushed.

 

Bootstrap ignored him and lowered his mouth again, taking him in further this time. Hector whimpered again, hips swaying forward in spite of himself, wanting to thrust deeper into his mouth, but Bill held him down and would give him no leverage.

 

“I hate you…” he hissed.

 

Bill’s teeth scraped his skin lightly and he saw a smile curl around his lips, and Hector grabbed his hair again and forced him down lower in retaliation. He hoped Bill choked.  But he hadn’t such luck.

 

In reward for his antics, Bootstrap dragged his hips to the very edge of the sill and moved a hand under him, while his mouth remained busy. Hector’s eyes widened when he felt the man pressing his fingers against his ass, threating to push inside.

 

“Don’t you dare!”

 

He knew the moment he said it that his fate was sealed. Bootstrap took him in deep and pushed one digit up into him simultaneously and Hector yelped and groaned, reaching to clutch the man’s shoulders for support. “Oh fuck!”

 

Boostrap’s head was fully in his lap, working him hard while his hand continued to probe beneath him, pushing deeper through the tight ring of muscle until he found the soft bundle of nerves against the inner wall that made Hector’s eyes roll back in his head.

 

Bill kept him there, teetering on the brink for as long as possible, feeling Hector shake and tense all over, no longer cursing him but rasping for air and moaning quietly. He felt the man throb and pulse in his mouth and pulled back, using his hand once more and looked up at his face, fascinated by his expression. Hector looked much softer, much younger, and certainly more attractive in the throes of sex.

 

His captive was hot and throbbing in his hand, ready to explode any moment if Bill kept pace. Which was exactly why he stopped, removing his hands from both sensitive places without warning. Barbossa looked momentarily shocked at the abrupt departure, but the reprieve was short lived as the older man grabbed him, turned him and forced him up on his good knee, hands pressed against the window pane as Turner positioned himself behind him, grabbing his hips and pressing hard against him.

 

The redhead’s hands and arms visibly shook as he braced himself, knowing damn well what was coming next, and Bill didn’t disappoint. Whatever lubrication the man had provided was sparing, because Hector felt the bitterly familiar pain that came with forced entry into his body and he bit back a scream. He supposed he was grateful that Bill had at least stretched him a bit first, otherwise it might be worse.

 

But Bootstrap gave him little time to adjust, drawing back before pushing forward again, feeling Hector’s muscles slowly begin to loosen around him as he continued to thrust up into him. Bill’s movements were that of a drunk man, slightly awkward and uneven in pacing. As tight and hot as Hector was around him he knew he couldn’t continue on very long before he hit orgasm. A fact that vexed him because this was surprisingly good. He was high on the feeling of control, of no longer being at anyone’s mercy and conquering a man who had always struck fear in his heart.

 

 

               

                Hector was sweating and grunting with the way that Bill was thrusting into him, managing to hit that coveted spot inside him that made his stomach tense and lights dance in front of his eyes, while at the same time making him want to beg for reprieve. But he didn’t, he didn’t dare. He thought about Jack and Bill’s threats. Before now he would never have believed simpering Bill Turner capable of this kind of treachery but now…

               

The thought of keeping Sparrow out of Bill’s hands was more than worth the abuse. He had lost Groves, and he’d be damned if he lost Jack too.

 

                Bill dug his fingers into his flesh hard, leaving bruises. He sputtered and mumbled and cursed under his heavy breath and Hector hated the sound of him, getting closer to orgasm and just wanting it to be over with, just wanting the man to cum so this could stop…

 

                Turner reached a hand around him and began to stroke him roughly, sinking in deeper as he put more of his body weight against him, leaning over his shoulder. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he growled against his ear.

 

                The change in position was more than Hector could handle, and Hector felt his body coil tight before releasing in a long slow rush that made him throw his head back with a loud gasp, spilling hot and thick over Bill’s hand.

               

                The other man’s tremors, the way his whole body tensed and shook and the look on his face intense orgasm made Bill drive deeper and harder until he came undone with a loud moan of his own, coating Hector’s insides. Bootstrap dropped his head to the other man’s shoulder, kissing at the constellations of freckles there in a manner that was almost affectionate, the endorphin rush banishing some of the cloud of hatred in his head, making him more docile.

 

                “Off…get off me…” Barbossa begged, and Bill obliged, pulling out of him and letting him fall against the window, slumping into a half-curled position, red faced and breathing hard. “Are ye satisfied now?” he spat, looking both furious and broken at the same. Bill thought his eyes looked hazy, glassy and wet.

 

                Bill said nothing, stumbling away and cleaning himself off with a rag from his pocket, hurriedly redoing his breeches as sobriety creeped over him in the aftermath of his deeds.

 

                “Our debt is settled, Bill…my sins repaid in kind. Now you must keep your end of this bargain,” Hector muttered through clenched teeth, the high of orgasm passing into pain again. “Take me back to my ship. Stay away from Jack and I…or I swear on Calypso herself I’ll send you to depths again, with my sword in your heart!”

 

                Bill didn’t answer, he seemed utterly dazed. There were heavy and hurried boot falls outside the door then and the knob jiggled violently for a moment before it was nearly torn from the wood as Will forced his way inside the cabin, staring wide-eyed at the scene before him. It took only seconds for him to realize what had taken place, between Barbossa’s abused and naked figure slumped against the window and Bill’s lost, disoriented gaze and the way his clothes were damp and in disarray.

 

                 “What have you done?”

               

                Bill looked on, as if he hadn’t heard the question, or rather that he didn’t understand. He looked from Will’s blanched and angry features back to Barbossa, who was still slumped where Bill had left him. His eyes roved over the man’s marred skin at all the bruises, the cuts, the welts he’d left on him, slowly realizing that indeed he had done these things, it was not a dream or some delusion of his mind. His anger and drunkenness had turned him into a monster.

 

                Will scowled and pushed past his father, coming to Barbossa’s side, finding his clothes and offering them to him. “We’ll find you a doctor, Captain—“

               

                “You’ll find me nothin’!” the other pirate barked, grabbing his clothes from Will’s hands and doing his best to cover himself. “Take me to my bloody ship…”

 

                Will nodded, “We’re on course, you’ll be upon her in the hour. Rest until then.”

 

                Barbossa shook his head, though it made him dizzy to do so. “Miserable blighters, the pair of you. I hope you understand what it is ye brought on yourselves for this. I hope seeing me degraded was worth whatever fresh hell Calypso deals you.”

 

                Will saw this as merely anger on Hector’s part, but it was Bill who had grown grim and quiet, staring at the floor, a new icy fear creeping in his chest. Will tried to help Hector, but the redhead jerked away from him. “No closer! I’m through being fondled and manhandled, thank ye kindly. I hope you’re pleased with yerselves…I can’t imagine what yer dear wife would say if she could see ya now, Mr. Turner. I had hoped better for you, for her sake alone perhaps. But it seems the rotten apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

 

                “Do not speak to my boy that way--!”

 

                Will turned and grabbed Bill, forcing him back, tossing him against the wall and holding him there. “ENOUGH! ENOUGH, FATHER!”

 

                “William…I’m sorry…I was j-just so angry…”

 

                Will shook his head tiredly, not knowing what his next course of action should be. He looked again at Barbossa, at his battered state and his guts twisted with guilt. This was not what he had intended when he allowed Bill to bring the other captain aboard their ship. Now he realized how deeply foolish he’d been not to see that Bill was unhinged.

 

                He removed the elder Turner from the room, shoving him back towards his own and thrusting him inside. “Stay here. If you make a move to harm him further, I swear to God I will throw you overboard myself!”

 

                “Will--!”

 

                “Do you not see what you’ve done!? Do you not understand the harm you’ve caused? Was your revenge worth becoming this? _Is Jack worth this!?”_

               

Bill could find no words to reply and with that William stormed out of the room again, leaving his father standing in the ringing silence. Finally, the weight of it all came crashing down on him, and he fell upon the bed, head in his hands, shuddering with angry sobs.

               

He thought of what he had done and hated himself for it; after all this time he thought this was the revenge he desired; that evening the score would at last settle these feelings he’d so long shut inside himself. But now there was more regret, more turmoil than before.  The worst insult perhaps, was that he had sunk to Jones’ level, using another to mollify his own unhappiness.

 

               

 

 

***

 

 

                Alone at last, Barbossa tried to gather himself. He felt humiliated and degraded, growing in ire every second he thought about what Bootstrap had done to him. Years ago if Bill had pulled a stunt like this, Hector would have killed him without hesitation. But now, there was too much at stake. He struggled into his pants and shirt again, cinching his belt. He heaved himself up unsteadily, cried out and sunk back against the window, breathing hard and cursing.

               

                He was thankful at the very least that neither of his lovers had to see him in this state; it was much too humiliating. Jack had seen him lain low before, but not Theodore…oh gods how he missed the man. How he wished he was there to hold and remind him that he was better than this, stronger than this, to inspire him to take revenge.  But he wasn’t and Hector felt that pain go through him again, more pronounced than before.

 

 Not since his departure from Sao Feng’s good graces had he allowed himself to be so used and abused by anyone, though others had tried. None of them were still alive to tell the tale, however. The door opened again and he froze, half fearing that Bootstrap had returned for another round, only to find the younger Turner standing before him again.

 

                He moved as if to assist Hector, but the redhead waved him off angrily. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need yer bleedin’ help, especially not now.”

 

                “I deeply regret what my father has done—“

               

                “Shut yer bleedin’ yap!” Hector snapped, gnashing his teeth at the younger man. “I want not yer pity, nor your apologizes, nor anything you have to offer me! I understand that Bootstrap be yer father, and maybe you really are just gutless in that regard Turner, but I beg you to think of Jack as I know I would never inspire the same consideration from you. Bootstrap is unhinged, his mind poisoned. You need to keep him away from Sparrow, lest you want more of the same.”

 

                “He would not harm Jack. He is still in love with him.”

 

                “Aye, you’d be surprised what ‘love’ can make you do, boy. Or have you forgotten so easily?”

 

                They looked at each other, Will remembering all too clearly their voyage to world’s end, and how his own sort of madness had driven him to treachery that had almost cost him Elizabeth. He thought again what she would say about all of this and knew he must find a way to put this situation right.

 

                “Bootstrap is in my charge, part of my crew. I accept the fault of his transgressions against you.” He spoke, jaw set firmly.

 

                Hector blinked at him with wide eyes. “Boy…you don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

                “I do. I allowed this. I take full responsibility.”

 

                Barbossa gave him a look that was troubled to say the least and Will did not fully understand what had turned the man’s bitterness towards him to quiet concern. He knew not all the particulars of the magic that had created the Dutchman, but he knew it well enough from the old stories and from Tia Dalma’s tales to know that should the power of the ship be misused in anyway, it bore a heavy price. He had not been jesting when he’d spoken this to the Turners, but now that Will was claiming responsibility for the misdeeds, he feared what would come of it.

               

                “I’m not saying ye don’t deserve to suffer for your complicities in this,” He said then, very seriously. “But I don’t think you understand—“

 

                “The matter is closed, Captain Barbossa. I will do as you suggest, and keep a weather eye on the man until I can be sure he is no longer a danger to anyone. You have my word.”

 

                Before Barbossa could say more, the ship rolled and swayed beneath them as though struck by a hard wave. They heard a commotion on deck, voices shouting to each other in surprise and alarm. Shortly after there came a very strange sound, that of chittering and squeaking, followed by the hurried sound of scratching and clawing.

 

                Both Captains turned towards the door as dozens of rats suddenly forced their way beneath the cracks of it, and through the small holes in the wooden walls, until they were rapidly swarming over Will’s feet, trying to climb up his legs.

 

                He kicked them away and drew his sword, stunned by the bizarre invasion, but behind him Barbossa began to cackle softly. “Ahaha…seems as though my crew has come to collect me.”

 

                Will looked at him in utter confusion until the door came open fully and a woman appeared there. She was bald and covered head to toe in odd red markings that appeared to be some sort of runes. More rats swarmed at her bare feet as she approached the men, though they didn’t seem to bother her.

 

                “Who are you?”

 

                The dark eyed woman ignored Will and turned her gaze instead to the man behind him. “My Captain, may I be of assistance?”

 

                “M’lady, I appreciate yer timing,” he grinned, glancing outside the window to see the looming shadow of the Revenge sitting right next to them. “Forgive an old man his ignorance, but how is it ye managed to—“

               

                There was a clamor behind her and she turned her head casually to see Shandy, followed by the hapless navy men turned pirates Murtog and Mullroy, all brandishing weapons.

 

                “Captain!” it was the boy who rushed forward, the rats scattering away from him as he launched himself against Hector and hugged him hard. He looked up worriedly at the bearded man’s bruised and battered face, and at the blood that stained his shirt and skin, though Barbossa tried to hide it. “Sir, you’re hurt.”

 

                “It’s not but flesh wounds, lad, not to worry.” He consoled, ignoring Will’s amazed stares. “How is it ye found me?”

 

                Shandy looked back at Shansa, “Was lady Shansa sir…she took command of the ship, told us you’d been taken by some devil of the sea, sir.” The youth turned to look bitterly at Will and much to everyone’s surprise, raised his weapon to him. “Is this the blackguard what harmed you, Captain? I’ll gut ‘im—“

               

                Hector took his hand and made him lower the hilt of his sword. “Mighty brave of ye, boy, but I need no avenging. Help me up.”

 

                He let the boy shoulder him and together they hobbled towards the rest of the crew. Mullory offered him his crutch, for which he was grateful, and Murtogg his coat.

 

                “Here you are sir. Good to see you’re still in one piece!” the broader man sputtered with a familiar stupid grin on his face. Hector looked at them blandly, seeing them both as poor substitutes for the pair of crewmen who had previously vexed him and were now trapped on the Black Pearl inside it’s cursed bottle.

 

                “Thankee, gents. Now let me guess…t’was the witch which had to take command of me vessel because the rest of you bleedin’ lot were too scared or stupid to do it yourselves, that it?”

 

                “Well…uh, that is to say—“

               

                “We didn’t know you were kidnapped sir! Half the crew thought that some curse had right evaporated you! But, erm…once miss witch over here explained otherwise—“

 

                “I threatened to turn them all into my rats if they did not comply.” Shansa answered bluntly, stroking one of her pets as it perched upon her shoulder.

 

                “Aye, I’ve heard enough.” Hector sighed. He took the woman’s hand in his and kissed it. “Grateful I am, m’lady, for your service.”

 

                She nodded and looked closely at Will then. Turner did not like at all how the sea witch stared at him, and he felt his blood cool. “I pity you, Captain Turner. You know not what hell you have allowed to be unleashed.”

 

                “Is she threating the Captain of the Flying Dutchman?” Mullroy gulped, leaning towards his partner nervously.

 

                “Can she do that?” Murtog asked in kind.

 

                Neither of them got their answer, for the woman swept forward, her pets dispersing as Barbossa and Shandy followed behind her, leaving the other pair to scramble nervously after them.

 

                They made their way to the deck, the crew of the Dutchman slowly dispersing to allow their safe passage as Shansa’s bewitched rats fled the ship, diving in the water below and making their way back to the haul of _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_.

 

                Bootstrap watched them go from the shadows of the wide cabin, unseen by Will, who had followed the other crew out onto deck to see that they departed. When they were out of sight, Bill sunk back towards the map that was spread across the wall, staring at the two faintly shivering images of the Dutchman and the Revenge floating side by side in the water. He would allow Hector to leave, as he had promised, though he was loath to do so. But that didn’t mean that his revenge had been satisfied, not yet. He pressed his hand against the parchment; “Show me Jack Sparrow.”

 

                The living ink within the map spread like fire beneath Hector’s palm and flittered to the far corners of the map as they watched wide eyed, until one dark line slithered its’ way from Hector’s palm to a small island of Haiti and lingered there.  Bill’s eyes flickered in the growing pink light from the windows, “Well, there we have it then.”

 

 

***

 

               

                Another day and night passed, and by mid-day on the next, _The Queen Ann’s Revenge_ dropped her anchor in the shallows just off a small spit of land which was lush with thick palms and blooming ferns and glittering beaches.

 

                As they reached shore in the long boat, Hector spotted a familiar figure coming down the beach from around the bend, where he could just make out the sails and mast of another ship. It was not the Pearl, that he was certain, but the colors it struck were undoubtedly pirate.

 

                Barbossa hoped out of the boat, dropping into the sand and surf with surprisingly agility and made his way up the beach towards the approaching figure, who could now see him clearly and had broken into a run.

               

                “About bloody time!” Jack shouted, pretending to be angry as he grew closer.

 

                Hector discarded his crutch, opened his arms and let Sparrow crash against him the pair falling back into the surf, arms around each other, kissing hard. Behind them, Shandy, and Scrum were dragging the boat ashore, the older man making a gagging sound at the display.

 

                “I’m not sure when the pair of ‘em are more annoying, when they’re barking at each other, or trying to tear each other’s close off.”

 

                “Captain says you’re just jealous.” Shandy replied.

 

                “Which captain?” Scrum demanded.

 

                “Both.”

 

               

                Jack finally let Hector come up for air, smiling down at him as he lay beneath him, damp and sand dusted. “Here I was beginning to worry that you might have become distracted.” He grinned.

 

                “Ah, but we both know that’s much more true of yourself, Sparrow.” Barbossa replied, pushing Jack’s long hair back over his shoulders, admiring the new trinkets that had been woven into it in his absence and how the sun had further bleached some of its ends, turning them faintly gold instead of their usual deep black and chocolate color.

 

                It was then that Jack noticed the bandage binding beneath Hector’s soaked shirt, and the fresh wound across his neck. He looked at him worriedly. “Met some trouble along the way, luv?”

 

                “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Hector replied, drawing Jack back down into a kiss to distract him. “What news of our pearl?”

 

                “Still bottled, I’m afraid.” Jack sighed.

 

                “A shame,” Hector replied, then cast his gaze back towards the Revenge where she floated. “But, I think I might have someone who could help us with that.”

 

                “Who?”

 

                “Lovely woman, I’m sure you’ll like her. Just mind ye don’t stand too closely. She bites.”

 

                “Well then! We should about to it. In the meantime Gibbs, and I have secured a little hide away for us.”

 

                “Oh?”

 

                “Well, you can’t expect to take all that plunder with you every time you sail. Eventually, the ship will just sink under the weight of it. But…”

 

                Hector didn’t really hear the rest of what Jack was saying, he was too lost in studying the man’s face, just glad he was here, alive and well. It had taken him a lifetime to rectify his mistakes and fight his way back to this man, and he knew, certain as anything, he could not bear to lose him again. Bill’s threats rang again and again in his head.

 

                “—Luv? You alright?”

               

                “What?”

 

                “Where did you go?” Jack was still smiling down at him, giving him that quietly pensive gaze with those big chocolate brown eyes. “Shall I start from the beginning?”

               

                “Whatever you like, m’luv. Whatever you like.”

 

 

**

 

               

                His bed was no longer empty. Jack was fast asleep in it, sprawled across the largest portion, naked and softly snoring. They had spent the better part of the evening making love, ignoring all other responsibilities for a time. The sun was red and swollen as it sunk lower and lower on the horizon as Hector watched it set. He was as worn and used up as Jack, but could not quiet his mind enough to sleep.

 

                He rose slowly from the bed, half dressed in his tunic and breeches and made his way from the cabin towards the other compartments, particularly the one which had formerly been Angelica’s and now housed Shansa.

 

                The woman was sitting at leisure, looking over some old tome scrawled with a language Hector could not read, drinking some foul concoction that smelled strongly of sea salt. “Permission to enter, m’lady?”

 

                She grinned up at him with that same odd, familiar affection that both attracted and unnerved him. “You are always welcome here, Captain.”

 

                He nodded gratefully and drew closer to her. “I need yer powers of insight, madame. Something you said to Captain Turner struck my curiosity. What is it that you meant when you said that he did not understand the hell he had unleashed?”

 

                She glanced up at him in the red tinted light of the room and Hector felt a chill seize him. “These events are but ripples upon the water. They begin small, insignificant. But soon they spread, reaching far and wide across the previously placid surface. Nothing goes untouched.”

 

                “What do you mean by this?”

 

                “A time is coming very soon when more of yours and your lovers’ past will return to haunt you. Choices that have now become the wide reaching ripples upon the water.”

               

                “How can I prevent this? What must we do?”

 

                “There is nothing you can do, Captain Barbossa. I can only say that soon you will find no safe haven upon the seas. If you want to protect yourself and your treasures, you must take to land.”

 

                Hector stared, “Ye mean ‘grass’? What is it ye would have me do, madame, take up farming? Making cheese?”

 

                She did not look troubled by the vexation in his voice.

 

                “I’m a pirate, m’lady, and the sea is my home, from now until it takes me from this world for good.”

 

                “Then you have to choose. Your love of the sea, or your love for your treasure.”

 

                “You told me that my treasure would come back to me if I brought you aboard this ship. Was that merely a ruse to save yer neck from a noose?”

               

                “No, Captain. What I told you before is true. And what I tell you now is also true.”

 

                Hector sat in troubled silence for a time, and she sensed his deep anxiety and surprised him by leaning over and kissing him on the lips. “Return to your love. Rest. Do not let this trouble you any more tonight.”

 

                He nodded dully, feeling suddenly exhausted and quietly excused himself from the room, returning to his cabin and his bed, rolling Jack over so that he could lay beside him. Sparrow settled naturally into the crook of his arm, face against Hector’s chest and smiled in his sleep. Barbossa held him close, staring out the window as the sun sunk lower, looming and bloody red as the shadows behind it deepened. Finally he fell asleep and remembered nothing else.

 

 

***

 

Fini


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